Shepherd of the Lost
by JMK758
Summary: In the Mirror Universe, Jennifer Shepherd and Kaitlyn Todd serve the Terran Empire. But who can they trust? Sequel to INCIS.
1. Punished

This is a sequel to 'INCIS', which featured the counterparts of familiar characters, set in the Mirror Universe. A popular variant of the 'Star Trek' series featured the 'Terran Empire', with altered versions of characters, and 'Enterprise' established that the Empire existed by at least the 19th Century.  
Many authors have done MU stories. I've done several 'Star Trek' ones, but to my knowledge no one has explored what the NCIS might be like in such a world. Therefore I decided I would.  
Belisarius Productions owns the regular NCIS. No one owns their Mirror Universe counterparts but unfortunately I can't claim them either. I'm not making any money off this, it is for fun.  
One Caveat: If you're not familiar with Star Trek's 'Mirror Universe' or 'Terran Empire', these are _not_ the people you are used to.  
Now sit back, pull up a glass and prepare to be shaken - _and_ stirred.  
Rated 'M' for Disturbing Imagery and Violence. Deathfic?

Shepherd of the Lost  
by JMK758  
Chapter One  
Punishment

Inquisitor Level 3 Christopher Pacci of the Imperial Navy Criminal Inquisition Squadron stops before the outer door of the Chief Inquisitor's sanctum and carefully inspects his uniform. The space black leather is an intimidating sight for others, but Pacci conceals his own apprehension as he performs this minute self-inspection.

The black uniform is accented by the rank boards on her shoulders, black with three strips of silver, the black pistol in the holster at his right hip, the black handled dagger in the sheath at his left thigh, the only spot of color is the gold badge at his left breast. That badge is duplicated on his black eight corner hat and as the symbol on the door before him.

The emblem, rendered in two foot high colored metal, is a shield containing the Arms of the Imperial Navy, before which is the Imperial sigil, an ancient Roman short sword impaling the Earth from pole to pole. Just visible between the northern pole and the guard of the sword are the letters INCIS. A black eagle spreads its wings menacingly over all.

Satisfied that not a crease, not a speck of dust mars the perfection of the leather, Pacci touches the intercom button next to the door.

"Speak!" the woman's voice snaps. He knows he has been watched since he arrived.

"Inquisitor L3 Pacci to see the Chief Inquisitor."

The door swings inward. Pacci steps past the twin machine guns concealed in either wall outside the door. Everyone knows they are there, everyone approaches this door with the same carefully concealed anticipation.

Men and women have been summoned to this office, never to pass the outer door.

x

The outer office contains a desk to his right but a single chair for the black woman who regards him coldly. On the walls are displayed large photos of Naval and Storm Trooper victories. They are not hard to come by; the Imperial Navy has never failed an engagement and the last global conflict in 1967, which had completed the Empire's dominance of the world.

There are two guards on duty outside the Chief's office, directly in line with the outer door. They're clad in polished midnight body armor that catches the light from the window behind Cynthia Sumner. Helmeted, they carry high powered assault rifles and Pacci can't help but be particularly aware of their discerning stares. Then he tries to ignore them, to relegate them to the status of harmless background.

Their position, the inner door in line with the outer, is not accidental. They're the last line of defense. If anyone who was not authorized to enter did somehow survive getting past that booby trapped, steel inlayed outer door, he'd be met with extreme prejudice.

x

Sumner's eyes are cold as she barely glances at him. "Go in."

At the touch of a button the door to her right opens and he steps through between the glaring, armored guards. When it swings shut, the click has the finality of doom.

Pacci slams to Attention. His salute – closed fist slapping to his chest, arm level, then extended outward parallel to the floor, an expression of power – is done with military precision. The man before him has been known to punish people for less.

The grey haired man looks up, his scowl making his eyes seem like twin lasers armed and ready to fire. His is an unforgiving face, set in the pattern of the thoughts behind it. It is said that a man's soul, a lifetime of thoughts and attitudes, are carved upon the visage. This man had been a Colonel in the Storm Troopers before transferring to and rising within INCIS. In the years he's known him, since long before he became Chief Inquisitor, Pacci has never known Gibbs to smile.

This face is not meant for smiling.

x

"L3 Christopher Pacci reports to the Chief Inquisitor."

"Why?" The single word carries deadly threat. Lee Gibbs had not summoned him; he had better have an incredibly good reason for being here.

"Sir, I work in MTAC–"

"I know where you work, Three, I assigned you." Gibbs' cold tone offers a single warning: 'Get to the point or I'll shoot you myself.'

"Sir, we've received a request from Inquisitor Cassidy aboard the _Saratoga_. She wants … she requests an Empire-wide transmission."

"Does she now?" The threat seems to shift off Pacci and he cannot be happier.

"Yes, sir. All Services, all bases, complete contact."

"Paula Cassidy is a Level 4 aboard a Cruiser. Isn't it presumptuous of an L4 to make such a request?"

"Sir, yes sir." Pacci draws himself to even stricter Attention. If Gibbs is going to be annoyed, he doesn't want to become a target.

x

Gibbs stands up, his posture ramrod straight. The sun through the bulletproof, polarized window behind him glints off the polished black leather and the gold braid at his cuffs and shoulders. His shield gleams like a mirror as he takes his black and gold officer's cover off the hat stand to the right of his desk.

"Come. Let's see what our young Inquisitor thinks is so important that the world should know it." The door opens automatically at the signal from the control in his pocket, he need not slow his approach.

Pacci follows the taller man through the outer office, neither of them glancing at the black woman at the desk. The senior guard falls in step behind them, automatic rifle at ready. They cross the elevated platform to the MTAC facility above the Operations room that covers the expanse of floor below. One of the two black uniformed men guarding the door, hand always on the pistol at his hip, sees his Chief approaching and uses the light beam of the retinal scanner on the wall to unlock the door.

Gibbs doesn't slow down as he turns and passes through the open door. The guard, relieved to have responded in time, returns to Attention when the men pass and the door locks behind them. The senior bodyguard takes position at the rail, overlooking Operations.

x

MTAC is a large facility with the highest of security. The monitor stations, ten rows of ten, five to a side off the central aisle, maintain surveillance over hundreds of security stations each while ceiling cameras watch the watchers. There are 99 men and women on duty in the room and Pacci takes a step to his monitor station at the right rear and calls out in a loud voice "Chief Inquisitor on deck!" The throng snaps to attention, comes about and a hundred fists snap to a hundred chests, a hundred fists punch outward.

Gibbs returns the salute, his eyes fixed on the large display screen at the far end of the room. On it is a close image of a blonde woman. All that are visible are her face and black duty cap. The thin band across the front above the visor is silver, as befits 3 and 4 operatives. Her body motion shows that she has not forgotten to salute. Gibbs stalks up to the huge face.

"Paula Cassidy, Inquisitor Level 4," she identifies herself formally. Shoulder boards bearing two silver strips are momentarily visible.

"Why have you requested Empire-wide contact, Cassidy?"

"In accord with Regulation 27, Chief Inquisitor."

Gibbs doesn't let the surprise he feels reach his face. It has been over a year since he has heard Regulation 27 invoked. Perhaps it has been too long.

He glances back over his shoulder, addressing the men and women collectively. "Transmit this to all facilities planet-wide."

He doesn't wait for acknowledgement of this order – no one would be suicidal enough to fail, or even risk being the last to succeed. Instead, he addresses the screen. "Proceed."

x

"I am Inquisitor Paula Cassidy aboard the INS _Saratoga_ in the Indian Ocean," she announces formally. The image shifts, jumping as Cassidy puts on the miniature camera, worn goggle-like. Positioned next to her right eye, it will show everything she sees.

The view turns to the left, to a medium close-up of a black man wearing the blue uniform of a Navy Chief Petty Officer. On his shoulders are the bars of his rank, on the collars of his blue shirt are the insignia of his division on his left and the Imperial sword and Earth sigil on his right. "With me is Chief Petty Officer Aaron Copeland. We are outside the Ward Room of the _Saratoga_. Chief?"

The man pushes open a large metal door. Inside, seated in a chair several feet into the room, a uniformed Sailor slumbers.

"Chief, identify this Sailor."

"Machinist Mate Second Class Harold Kingston."

"Assignment?"

"2000 to 0400."

"What is the hour?"

"2027."

"You certify this man is on duty?"

"I do."

"Wake him."

x

A black hand at the end of a blue sleeve comes in from the left of the screen and shoves the slumbering man's shoulder. When the startled man looks up and sees Cassidy, surprise changes to white faced terror.

"Machinist Mate Harold Kingston?"

Kingston's eyes flick between the camera and the spot to its right. "Yes."

"It's 2027, I'm told you are supposed to be on duty."

"I – I can explain!"

"_Are you on duty_?"

"Yes. _Please_! I'm SORRY!"

"Should have thought of that."

Kingston's eyes bulge as a large black pistol at the end of a black leather sleeved arm points to the middle of his forehead.

The explosion is deafening in the metal room. A hole and gush of blood appear in the man's forehead as his body is driven backward, the chair overturns, takes him out of sight.

The image shifts downward, past the overturned chair. Kingston lies on his back, his eyes still wide, terror forever engraved upon his face. The hole in his forehead has little blood, his heart stopped instantly, though behind his head a red pool spreads as gravity drains him. His face is charred by hot gas and powder.

"Have the crew take this topside and leave it on the deck until twelve hundred hours, then weigh it down with scrap metal and throw it overboard."

The screen goes black.

x

Satisfied with the woman's execution of her duty, Gibbs turns and stops sharply to avoid colliding with L1 Jennifer Shepherd who's standing directly behind him. "What do you want?" He's annoyed that someone could have approached him so closely without his being aware of it, but he'll show none of this to the five score men and women at their posts, certainly not to the operative who accomplished it. Is he getting too complacent in his own Headquarters, or has she gotten that good?

Either one is cause for concern.

x

Shepherd takes a step back and brings her fist to her chest, then straight outward with a snap, striking the air before her. "Sir, you ordered me to report to you today at 1330 regarding Inquisitor Two Todd."

He would be happy not to hear that name for a while, but her skill and experience have their value. "Five days already."

"To the hour, sir."

"Return her to duty, her shift will end at 2000 hours. She may resume her regular schedule at Zero hours."

"Sir!"

"When you've released her, report to my office."

"Very good, Chief Inquisitor," she salutes again, about faces and walks to the door. Gibbs' eyes trail her every step.

Has she gotten good, or is he complacent in his own headquarters?

xxx

Jennifer Shepherd returns the salutes of the guards outside the Laboratory on the top floor. Then she pushes back her eight point black cover so the Iris Scanner can inspect her retina and grant her permission to enter the sanctum. When she pushes the door open, her eyes first take in the room as a whole. Even, or especially, here she is cautious, alert for any dangers.

The room is tremendous, the unbroken space covering over 2,900 square feet. A dozen long worktables dominate this section of the room, the rear half filled by machines of formidable technology. In the midst of this wonder Dr. Abigail Sciuto, clad in a short black lab coat so dark her long black pony tail is almost lost in the midnight hue, holds court like the High Priestess of the Temple of Science.

Her bare legs under the extremely high hem are her only color, incongruous below the short blackness. Sciuto turns and her salute is just a touch of her loosely closed fist to the tip of her left breast. Her fist, instead of coming out with a snap of military precision, comes all the way around in a wide arc, leading her body as she turns back to her work.

Shepherd wants to grab that long black pony tail, wrench the insolent bitch's head around and teach her the foolishness of turning her back upon an enemy.

She can do nothing.

"_Sciuto_!"

"What do you want? I'm busy."

Outraged, Shepherd stalks up to her. "You will show me the respect due my rank! I am a Level One Inquisitor!"

"Oh, wow, Level 1," she says tonelessly, and doesn't even glance from the graduated test tube in her hand, into which she carefully pours a blue liquid from a beaker. "Well, until I get that particular memo, you will always be number two to me," she sets down the beaker and tube and finally turns to the angry woman, "whereas _I_ am the Chief Scientist of INCIS. I answer to Chief Inquisitor Gibbs and _only_ to Chief Inquisitor Gibbs. Now what do you _want_?"

Jennifer strives to keep her temper, her impotent fists clenched at her sides. She may be a Level One, but there are ranks and there are ranks. Abigail Sciuto has no 'Level' as far as Inquisitors are concerned, yet neither of them operates under any illusion as to which of them is favored.

"I've come for Todd."

"Good, I'm _sick_ of her. Get her out so I can get some work done."

x

Gail Sciuto actually manages to flounce in the very short zippered black lab coat and low shoes as she leads the way to the left rear corner of the lab, to a steel chamber three feet wide by three deep by seven high. It's tall enough for anyone to stand upright but only to stand. There's no room to crouch, sit or fall, and this is where Inquisitor Level Two Kait Todd has spent the past 120 hours.

The Punishment Chamber is Dr. Gail Sciuto's brainchild, but if she'd known it would be housed in her own lab she would have had a cognitive abortion. A Sensory Deprivation / Overload device, it works on multiple fronts to punish those who fail in their duty. With the prisoner within, one does not have to resort to debilitating beatings that keep an operative out of commission for days afterward, nor is anyone required to take time out from important duties to impart the punishment. This device doesn't punish through pain – all of the torment inflicted is focused upon the mind.

The only torture to the body is the requirement to stand upright in the three foot square chamber for the prescribed duration. Thus far, the longest punishment inflicted has been for 8.37 days, a most unenviable record since the man died prior to completion.

It's completely soundproof, but not so the screams for mercy can be ignored. No sound, no light penetrate it, and only just enough air is pumped in to ward off death. But it is not soundless or lightless within, oh no. At irregular intervals searing light flares from all sides, just short of enough to overload optic nerves. At irregular intervals thunderous explosions or piercing shrieks fill the chamber, a level just short of shattering eardrums. At irregular intervals bursts of electricity erupt from walls and floor, a charge only a careful measure short of causing unconsciousness. Monitors record vital signs without touching the subject; when they detect the slowing that presages sleep the chamber responds with a vengeance.

A prisoner condemned to this fate doesn't eat, doesn't drink, doesn't rest and is assaulted at unexpected times, particularly when he or she is most vulnerable. If he soils him or herself that is not Sciuto's concern, since aside from input and exhaust tubes leading to excellent filters the chamber is air tight.

For failure to obtain necessary information on an underground railroad that had eluded INCIS investigation for months, for killing all three prisoners without obtaining answers and in the processes losing the life of one of their best Interrogators, Kait Todd had been sentenced to 5 days in this chamber.

x

Gail Sciuto unlocks the door, standing to the side as she shoves it open.

Inquisitor Level Two Todd crashes to the lab floor and lies shaking violently, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She's still wearing her black uniform, but it and her hair are a disheveled mess.

Sciuto slams the door of the chamber, her other hand covering her nose and mouth.

"Oh, you _stink_!" she waves her free hand to dispel the stench. "Get the fuck out of here; I have to fumigate the entire lab." She turns to Shepherd. "Get her out of here!"

"Give her a moment, can't you? Look at her," she points down to the violently trembling woman. "She can't get up to go anywhere yet."

Sciuto takes a deep breath and bends down, grabs a handful of Todd's tousled hair and twists her head violently, forcing her to look up. She pulls a dagger from the sheath at her bare left leg and presses it to the trembling woman's throat. "Michelle Lee was my friend and you let her get killed. The only reason I'm not disemboweling you right _now_ is that Gibbs will probably want to assign you somewhere you deserve and I don't want to dull my knife in your stinking carcass!"

She stands, yanking hard at Todd's hair. The woman screams a ragged, moistureless cry as she's dragged upward to her feet. She staggers as Sciuto drags her, bent at the waist, across the long room to the door which opens at their approach. She flings the screaming woman out of the lab, past the surprised guards, paying no attention as Kait slams heavily to the floor, crying out in added pain. The door closes automatically and Sciuto turns to the appalled operative.

"_Well_?"

Shepherd stalks up to Sciuto, incensed at the abuse of the helpless woman, feeling she should stand up for a fellow Inquisitor, no matter what she'd done or failed to do. "You have–"

Gail waves her hand sharply between them to clear the air, her hand a fraction short of slapping Shepherd. "'Get _out_' I said!" she waves her hand dangerously close, "I've got to get a crew in here now to try to clear out this _stench_!"

"What can you expect her to smell like after five days in that thing?"

"I wasn't talking about _Todd_!"


	2. Assignment

Chapter Two  
Assignment

Shepherd, angrier than she had been in months, leaves the lab and carefully restrains herself from slamming the door. That would be petty. When she enters the corridor she sees Todd lying upon the floor by the wall, trembling violently. Neither of the guards made a move to help her.

Breathing through her mouth to try to avoid the worst of the stench – five days in that cell had done more than rupture Todd's nerves – she carefully lifts the shaking woman to her feet. Todd, having had to stand for 120 hours, is a dead weight, unable even to stagger without help.

"Come on, Kait, I'll get you to a shower. Gibbs wants you back on duty."

The woman tries to answer, but five days without water have robbed her of her voice. She can only moan. Just as well, as only a fool would voice an opinion.

Jennifer helps her to walk, not bothering to spare a glare at the guards she leaves behind. She doesn't get five paces, however, when the black disk attached to her right earlobe snaps at her. 'Inquisitor Shepherd, report to the Chief Inquisitor's office.'

The tone is as terse and cold as possible, the circuit being closed before she can even phrase a reply. Cynthia Sumner is one of the most disagreeable people Jennifer Shepherd has ever met. The woman, confident and secure in her position of strength, has found her niche well as the Chief's right arm.

Shepherd glances at the trembling woman she supports on her left arm – her gun hand is always kept free – knowing she cannot get to the women's lockers in the basement on her own. However, to delay a summons from the Chief is never a good idea. She increases her pace toward the elevators, trying the bear the weight of the staggering Inquisitor. "Damn it," she mutters, "you could help."

"Sorry," the voice is little more than a croak.

"You're to put in eight hours, starting now," she says as the elevator door opens and she helps Todd in, "then you get four before resuming your zero to eight." Kait groans, Shepherd carefully keeps her own opinion to herself. "I'm supposed to be escorting you to your station, but I can't stay."

"I heard," Todd moans, trying to straighten herself as the car descends. The pain of every movement forced from her exhausted muscles is plain upon her face and in every gasping breath.

Shepherd isn't surprised to have had the summons overheard. The half-inch wide disks affixed as pseudo-earrings to the women's ears – the men got to wear pins on the collars of their uniforms – are powerful receivers and transmitters, and more that she doesn't like to contemplate.

They meet no one in the lower level. Shepherd makes it to just inside the locker room door with her charge when a blast of thunder explodes in her right ear, she jumps and nearly loses her grip, clutches Todd and both women slam to the floor.

"_DAMN_!" Shepherd cries, pushing herself up, her hand covering her wounded ear. She can hear nothing until her nerves recover from the thunderous blast, but she just knows how much satisfaction Sumner must have gotten from that 'reminder'.

"You'd better go," Todd whispers from her left, barely heard from that side, "before they really get impatient."

Shepherd steps away, but then turns and watches the accomplished, dedicated Inquisitor push herself to her hands and knees and started to crawl.

Shepherd takes a half-step back but must stop. She doesn't want to face her impatient boss but doesn't dare delay either.

x

When she gains admittance past the outer door to Gibbs' offices, she's on high alert. She doesn't get to these rooms often, which suits her, but she's cautious of everything. She's hyper-aware of the machine guns concealed in either wall outside the door, of the two armed and armored guards at the door before her, and most of all at the black woman to her right. Of all the threats, she trusts Cynthia Sumner the least. The guns and the guards are known dangers, but she's known Sumner to be a saccharine snake.

"You're late, get in there," the woman commands, aggravating Shepherd further. In INCIS Sumner has no rank and the highest of ranks. She's much like Sciuto, a glorified civilian whose glory comes from her proximity to the Chief Inquisitor.

Shepherd doesn't challenge the woman or her tone of command, contenting herself with the recollection that things change, especially so for those who are ready for the change.

When she enters the inner sanctum, she admits she could have been a little better prepared. Though she snaps to attention and salutes the man behind the desk, her eyes are on the other three men and two women surrounding it.

x

All, like her, are Level One Inquisitors. Janet White, Karen Levy, Antony DiNozzo, Fred Higgins and Patrick Larsen, all hard and skilled interrogators with long and successful careers. The shoulder boards on their black uniforms each contain five gold bands, the gold metal bars across their covers gleam in the light. In their company, Shepherd is poignantly aware of her own band's brighter gleam, the new gold of her barely-month-old promotion.

Of the five, Fred Higgins is the oldest, easily fifty years, while Karen Levy is on the other end of the scale, two years younger than herself. There is only one among them, Janet White, whom she can call 'friend' and mean it, but no one she can trust. One in particular, DiNozzo, she would never think of with that word; heartless, sadistic, psychotic bastard yes, but never friend.

"You're late, Shepherd," Gibbs' voice, though quiet and emotionless, cuts across the room like a sword. "I ordered you to release Todd and report to my office."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Shepherd says sharply, trying to draw herself to stiffer attention. "I was delayed, it won't happen again."

"You may be sure it won't." His eyes cut through hers; then he turns his attention to the group as a whole, "Inquisitors; your next assignment."

He pushes a button on his desk and the wide plasma screen on the wall to their right flares to life.

x

On the screen is displayed the image of a woman, her features sharp and exotic, her eyes a piercing brown, her hair black as a raven's wing at midnight. "Her name is Ziva David, 'supreme commander' of the Israeli Secret Service; in their language 'Mossad'. It's an archaic rank that dates from before the Empire dominated that section of the world. The Emperor doesn't care what people call themselves so long as they operate under Imperial rule. The Mossad performs the same function as a hundred other territorial police departments; they keep their populations under control and maintain the Pax Imperium within their borders."

Shepherd, at the far left of the group, is in a position to watch the faces of the men and women. Several of them seem bored by the history lesson, but they're far too careful to show it. What others might show by a change of expression, they do with the briefest and subtlest of changes, such as the most miniscule tightening of an eye, a flex of a jaw, always caught and contained, visible only to those with adequate training.

No one can give a perfect blank face, but these men and women come the closest, making careful observation vital to survival.

It is interesting, Shepherd muses, that the same skills that can be used in an interrogation of a prisoner can serve so well with colleagues. For instance, what Shepherd reads in the slightest flicker of Antony DiNozzo's eyes as he looks at this woman confirms her deep determination never to be alone with this tall man with the trim face and evil eyes.

x

"David is coming to this facility for an important conference, none of you need the reason. We want our Israeli associates to feel secure while they're here." He passes out six file folders, no one is foolish enough to open them and appear inattentive to the words of his or her Chief. "Levy, you're personally responsible for the safety of Ziva David during her visit. Each of you are assigned a member of her staff, you're to be their constant companions. Eat with them, walk with them, when they use the head you stand outside the stall. Nothing is to happen to any of these people from the moment they land until they're back in the air.

"Though the Empire forbids any lack of cooperation between the governments we control, there are centuries of enmity between Israel and France. France believes that Israel will use this conference to gain a measure of favor with the Emperor, perhaps even upset France's controll of their terretories in the Mideast."

x

Everyone knows the story. In the war of 1922, Israel and France were allied to defeat the Arab states. France then occupied most of the land encompassing Turkey, Iraq, Saudi Arabia and all the land as far east as Afghanistan. Israel had taken everything to the borders of Libya, Chad, the Congo, the top two thirds of Ethiopia and a good bite of Yemen and Oman as well as all the territory north to the French occupied Turkey. They control the Red Sea which, added to their Mediterranean border, solidifies the power of their Navy over the region.

The alliance had fallen apart over petty squabbles and the Empire, growing in power, took over while these two powers were bickering rather than watching their resources. The Empire has dominated the entire region since the 1930's and had rebuffed the Arab plea to return the land from France to native control. The Arabs had lost the war, so France still controls most of that oil rich territory. They do not, however, have access to the Mediterranean or Red Seas, Israel being a buffer between the French shipping and the rich fields to the West.

x

"We believe French operatives may try to disrupt this conference, for to weaken Israel improves the French position. Though the Empire doesn't permit warfare between its dominions, it will not support a weak resource. If France rules by strength, under the dominion of the Empire, they can exercise control of all the land from the Mediterranean Sea to Afghanistan and from Turkey through the North African continent to the Congo, Uganda and Kenya. The Emperor, however, wishes to maintain the status quo.

"Study your dossiers, be ready when the 'supreme commander's plane touches down at 1300 tomorrow. That is all."

No one attempts to ask questions. If Gibbs wanted them to know more that is not in the files, he would tell them. As they leave, Shepherd glances at the file in her hand, just having time to read the name 'Miriam Goldbloom'.

"Not you, Shepherd. You stay."

None of the others so much as glance at her and she tries to keep any expression off her face. She about faces; comes to attention and when the door latches shut she salutes. "Sir!"

"Come here."

x

Shepherd does not want to move from the illusionary safety near the door, but knows all too well the stupidity of even seeming to hesitate in following one of Gibbs' orders. She crosses the room to the desk in a steady march, feeling the diamond drills of his eyes cutting into her every step of the way.

His eyes on hers are merciless, cold, and she tries to repress a shudder, to keep her face blank, wondering what sort of punishment he will see fit to mete out to her. She holds strict attention, not daring to do less.

"You delayed this conference. I believe my order was clear."

"Sir it was, sir!"

"What do you suppose is a suitable response to this?"

Shepherd wishes he'd never asked, but she knows it to be a test. If she is being given the chance to name her own punishment, it had better be sufficiently severe. On the other hand, she just might go too far and outdo whatever he had in mind. Best to play it safe.

"I would never presume to give direction to the Chief Inquisitor."

"No. No, I suppose you wouldn't. Besides, I don't have the time to discipline you properly, you have an assignment."

"I know, sir. Thank you, sir."

"You know _what_?"

The question catches her by surprise, "My assignment, sir."

"I haven't given it to you yet."

"I'm sorry, sir." Now she's adding presumptuousness to her list of offences.

"Miriam Goldbloom."

"Yes, sir?"

"Kill her."

x

"Sir?" He had just stressed the importance of keeping the delegation safe.

"We believe she's a French Operative within Mossad. You will leave evidence behind that it was French assassins who did this. I want there to be no doubt that France has moved against Israel. You will tell no one."

There are a thousand questions Shepherd wants to ask, and Gibbs' face as he rises from behind the desk says all too clearly how stupid a thing that will be. She strikes her chest and then the air before her in salute. "Long live the Empire."

His fist comes out toward hers. "Long live the Empire."

xx

When she leaves the offices, Jennifer Shepherd cannot regain her customary poise. While killing someone who needs killing, something sanctioned by or done in defense of the Empire, is right, there's something unsettling about this order. If Goldbloom is a traitor to her people, let the Mossad deal with her, if they know. But if they do not, how does INCIS know? And if they are not taking action, why is INCIS? The more she thinks about this assignment, the worse it feels.

She straightens her black cover upon her head and strides down the corridor, a model of professional confidence she doesn't feel.

Her thoughts are broken as she approaches her office on the fourth floor when she sees Antony DiNozzo leaning against the wall between her and the door. "You screwed up big time, didn't you?" he asks as she steps around him, so close to her that she can't ignore him.

"No."

DiNozzo grins, knowing better. "Then why keep you except to whip your –" he looks down behind her, "curvy ass?"

If his eyes were hands they'd be petting her.

She pulls her key card from the pocket of her leather jacket, not wanting to get into a conversation with the obnoxious man. She has enough on her mind with this unsettling mission without thinking of how much she detests the black souled Inquisitor.

x

Last week he'd been assigned the job of interrogating the prisoner Timothy McGee, until he'd grown too enthusiastic and had beaten him unconscious, breaking his arm in the process. The Sector Chief had been obliged to assign Kait Todd to the duty and it had sparked the fuse that resulted in 3 dead prisoners, one dead Interrogator, one penalized Inquisitor and no answers at all.

No penalties had accrued to DiNozzo, though Shepherd wishes someone had slit his throat.

Some day.

x

She sticks the key card into the slot and the lock clicks off. Before she can push the door open, his arm comes across her chest to block her, his hand closing on her breast.

"Like I said, you're soft," he gives her breast a squeeze. "Tell me, who did you have to spread them for to get One? Or was that why Gibbs held you back?"

She knocks his arm away, her left hand comes up, her dagger under his chin, her right hand staying on the grip of her gun. "Touch me like that again, DiNozzo, and–!"

His right hand closes over her left and twists, wrenching her wrist so violently the dagger slips from her hand and he rams his fist deep into her stomach. As she doubles over he backs her quickly to the opposite wall, slams her against it and grabs her shoulders, pushing her up so hard her head pounds into the wall, her cover flying off. A left hook stuns her, slams her head into the wall again. She can't block his right fist which cracks against her jaw. She slips along the wall to land on her side.

She lies stunned, shaking her head to try to clear it, unsure whether the back of her head or her jaw hurts more. She knows DiNozzo is walking away, not bothering to say anything or act while she's helpless, a greater insult. She pushes herself up, not daring to allow anyone who might come by see how easily she'd been defeated.


	3. Power and Privilege

Chapter Three  
Power and Privilege

Lee Gibbs stares at the file in his hands, feeling his initial annoyance shift steadily through aggravation to anger. He slaps the file down and punches the intercom button.

"Sir," Cynthia Sumner acknowledges crisply.

"Burly." Never one to waste two words where one will do, he snaps off the intercom and a second later the door opens and his Chief Bodyguard enters.

Stan Burly snaps to attention, saluting sharply. When Gibbs returns it, Burly can see smoldering anger in the seated man's eyes.

"Bring Gail Sciuto here, and you don't have to be gentle."

Burly salutes again, turns on his heel and leaves, nodding to his partner to remain on strict vigilance while he's gone. He doesn't slow down, intent on his mission.

Stan Burly has been with Gibbs for nearly ten years, ever since Gibbs had made Supervisor and didn't have to go into the field. Following Gibbs' retiring of former Chief Inquisitor Morrow, which retirement had been facilitated by three bullets to the chest, Burly has remained at Gibbs' back. Now he's just in a much nicer office with corresponding rank, quarters, privileges and pay.

He knows many of Gibbs doings and has served him silently and well for a decade. This is just one more assignment. He doesn't know what the pretty scientist has done to inspire such anger as he'd seen in Gibbs' eyes, nor does he care. In this job, empathy and curiosity are tragic mistakes, mistakes he hasn't made in years. His job is to deliver the woman and, in light of Gibbs' provision, in what condition she arrives is entirely up to her.

He does consider it significant, however, that he's been sent to retrieve her rather than Gibbs' simply summoning her. He hopes that whatever has angered his Chief will not be too serious. He's come to like the pretty scientist.

x

When the armored man gets off the elevator on the top floor he's saluted by the guards at either side of the door to the huge lab. "You're relieved."

Neither guard changes expression. Their duty is to protect the lab and the woman within, but when INCIS' Chief Bodyguard tells them they're relieved, they stand relieved. Both men march forward, board the elevator and retire until such time as they are called back to duty. If they're never called to protect Dr. Sciuto again, well, small loss.

Burly, having removed any potential obstacle should he have to compel Sciuto to accompany him, uses the Iris scanner to unlock the lab door, pushes it open and allows it to close behind his back.

Gail Sciuto, working at a machine midway across the room near the right wall, turns at the unexpected intrusion. "What do you want, Burly?"

"Chief Inquisitor Gibbs wants you in his office."

"Chief Inquisitor Gibbs," she counters, walking to a table near the middle of the room, not caring that his eyes slip from her black zippered lab coat which reaches three inches past her hips to her long, bare legs above her low slippers, "knows that I'm very busy. I sent him a report on my progress barely two hours ago."

She keeps her back to him, she'd never faced him during the whole soliloquy, her attention solely on the equipment on the table before her.

'She really does have nice legs," he thinks, inspecting her, but he keeps his voice bland. "I know nothing about your report, just that he wants you."

"You, that idiot Shepherd, that stupid bitch Todd, if everyone keeps interrupting me I'll _never_ get my work done. Tell him I'll try to make it in about an hour or so."

x

Burly steps up behind her, reaches past her with his left hand to interlace his fingers about hers, yanks her arm back hard and up quickly, wrenches her arm behind her so hard she's raised onto her toes, her fingers twisted sharply as she cries out in unexpected pain. She'd clearly never imagined anyone treating her roughly. She reaches back with her right; he grabs her wrist and pulls up her right arm, raising her higher as she grimaces in pain.

She kicks back, her soft slipper against his armored shin/ He twists her fingers more sharply, pulling another yelp from her.

"Are you ready to leave?" he inquires, his voice mild.

"I'm BUSY!" His fingers wrench hers sharply, he pulls her left hand higher and she nearly screams.

"Are you ready to leave?"

"_Yes_, damn you!"

xx

Burly has already frisked her for weapons, finding nothing in her pockets or under the lab coat, but is cautious as he escorts the woman to the elevator and down to the fourth floor, crossing the MTAC level above the Operations room to the Chief's offices. He doesn't understand her. It's one thing to have a superior attitude when one is superior, but behavior such as this from anyone else would be suicide. If she isn't more careful, her unique position in INCIS will be of no help to her.

Gail Sciuto is angry, anyone can see that in her unguarded expression, trying to hold and ease the pain in her arms and hand. But she's not so foolish as to try to escape whatever fate awaits her beyond the inner door.

In fact, she stalks across the outer office in a burning rage, not even acknowledging the salute of the guard, Kenneth Templeton, at the door. When she hears the click of the lock being disengaged, she slaps the door, shoves it open. Both Burly and Templeton enter behind her.

"Gibbs, what do you mean sending this gorilla," she glances back, then forward so sharply her pony tail whips about, "to _drag_ ME down–" she stops, finally registering that he's sitting back behind the desk, rhythmically slapping a fifteen inch wooden rod into his left palm.

"You're here to _explain_ your report." He picks up a set of silver manacles, tosses them past her to Templeton. "Restrain her."

x

Anger flies instantly through disbelief to terror as the armored guards grab her arms. She struggles against their greater strength, panic helping her as she writhes wildly, tries to keep them from locking the manacles about either arm. She kicks, tries to bite, but each man holds her away from the other.

Burly kicks the back of her knees and she falls forward, driven into a chair, kneeling on the carpet, trapped across the seat. She can't fight as one arm is wrenched back, tearing a scream from her as the manacle is clamped about her wrist. She continues to fight, but her other arm is yanked back just as violently, the metal restraint snapping closed.

She struggles against the hands that hold her down, knowing it's hopeless, then Gail hears movement to her right. She looks up to see Gibbs coming to stand beside her. His hands are bare, but she feels no relief.

"Not tight enough." He reaches to her trapped wrists and squeezes, tightening the cuffs until they bite into her flesh, ratcheting painfully until she cries out. "Lock them."

Burly reaches in and uses his key to secure the manacles. They won't open, but neither will they tighten further. She could almost be grateful for the miniscule mercy if they weren't a notch short of stopping her circulation.

"Dismissed."

Gail's blood runs cold at Gibbs' tone and she feels no relief as the two men exit. There's now only one man with her – and she's terrified.

x

"Please! Please!" she whispers, her voice trembling.

He grabs her pony tail, yanks her to her feet and her shriek is as much agony as terror. He pulls her upright, turns her until her back is to his desk and then slaps her hard, the impact cracking through the room. He backhands her, driving her nearly to his desk. A third slap cracks into her cheek as she falls against the desk, barely avoiding being driven backward across its top.

He grabs her pony tail again, wrenching her hair to force her to look at him. Grasping the zipper of her black lab coat, he yanks it down, opening the material completely and pushing it off her bare body and down her arms, pleased to find her well prepared for him as her only covering falls to her trapped wrists.

Still clutching her pony tail to force her to look up at him, he closes his free hand upon her bare breast, squeezes the full mound until her flesh whitens about his strong fingers. She screams in agony, but when he eases the crushing grip slightly her eyes and grin communicate her delight.

She has been looking forward to this for hours, ready for him ever since she sent the bogus report. Anticipation had been mounting for two hours before Burly _finally_ showed up. She strains to kiss Gibbs, he keeps her too distant.

Using his hand on her hair to pull, his other to crush and press against her breast, he forces her backward onto the desk. She raises her legs, spreads them wide to receive him. He only takes a moment, releasing her hair, to prepare himself; then grips both her breasts tightly to hold her in place.

Her shriek reaches all the way to MTAC.


	4. Demotion

Chapter Four  
Demotion

Kait Todd struggles to stay on her feet, knowing she'll receive no mercy. She's not stupid enough to ask for leniency during the balance of this shift. She must endure her duties until 2000 hours, then find what rest she can before her 0000 to 0800 shift.

It's only fortune that there is no prisoner awaiting interrogation, not that she supposes her Chief would assign her to one. Technically on duty, she manages to slip up to the Medical Department, seeking some relief to get through the coming hours.

The door to Medical displays a large Caduceus, the winged snake entwined staff of Asclepius behind the Imperial sword and Earth sigil. Pushing it open, she sees Gerald Jackson just stepping away from a woman laying upon a gurney. "Yes?" the black man asks.

"I – I was hoping to get some help," Kait admits.

"What sort of help?"

She tells him how she has spent her past five days.

"No less than you deserve, young lady," INCIS' Chief Medical Officer tells her as he approaches from her right. Distracted as she'd been, she hadn't noticed him. Given the choice between them, she'd rather have had Jackson's aid.

Donald Mallard is as tall as she is, but is a formidable figure to whom the term 'gentility' will never be attached. His eyes are devoid of the compassion she'd normally find in a medical doctor, and though there might have once been some gentleness in his face, the moustache and thin beard that surround his mouth give him a Mephistophelean veneer.

"You've caused the INCIS no little hardship with your thoughtlessness. Still, you're here, I might as well examine you. Get in here."

x

Mallard brusquely leads her into an examining room and shuts the door, then seats himself at the desk. "Strip to the waist."

Yet another reason why she'd prefer Jackson. "Doctor, my problem is exhaustion and shattered nerves from that punishment chamber; there's nothing wrong with my breasts."

"Ho ho, when did you become a doctor, during that vacation in Boston? No matter, sit down there on the table while I call up your file." He manipulates a few controls. "Yes, here you are, Inquisitor Level Five Kaitlyn Todd."

"What? No, that's wrong, I'm an L2."

"Says right here," he taps the screen, "Level Five."

She jumps off the table and pushes past him, outraged to see the damning words. "No, that's wrong!"

He shoves her aside, touches another set of buttons and her Personnel file appears. "You were demoted two days ago, 'three consecutive days of failure to report for duty or notify your superior'."

"I was in the Punishment Chamber! I couldn't notify _anybody_!"

"And did you think that was going to be the limit of your punishment?"

"I _can't_ be a Level Five!" she whirls on Mallard, "have you any idea how much an L5 _makes_?"

"I suppose this means it will be difficult to maintain your home?"

"_Difficult_? IMPOSSIBLE!" She looks back to the screen; the damning words are still there. "I _can't_ be a Level Five!"

"Get used to it, young lady. Considering the alternative, you got off lucky." He stands up, goes to the door, opens it and waits expectantly.

"Wait a minute! Aren't you going to help me?"

"For what ails you, you need only bed rest. I suggest you get some when your shift is over."

"I have only _four hours_ between these eight and my normal shift!"

"Then I suggest you sleep quickly."

xx

Jennifer Shepherd sits at her desk, her assignment file open before her. She can't concentrate upon it, the words on the paper are too few and bear nothing to her orders.

Miriam Goldbloom is a Linguist, is skilled in diplomacy, has an extensive background in geopolitical affairs and is a graduate of an Israeli college. The summary is less than a bare assessment of the woman's status, with no information on her purpose in this forthcoming conference. The file reveals little about her, implies even less.

There's nothing in there that relates to her orders: Isolate Miriam Goldbloom, kill her and frame the French for her death.

Her orders, as usual, do not say why this is to be done. There are, in fact, no orders on paper. The only orders she has are verbal, from Gibbs.

'Kill her.'

x

Normally Shepherd has no problem obeying such an order. Miriam Goldbloom is to die, kill her. End. She's followed such orders in the past, though always in writing. INCIS leaves nothing to ambiguity. Last month it had been Alan Tracy, father of three, business owner, determined by INCIS to have been siphoning funds from the Storm Troopers.

Crime: Stupidity.

Sentence: Death.

Shepherd had walked into his office, drawn her sidearm and put three bullets through his head before he'd begun to look up. Case closed.

So why does this order make her hesitate?

xx

Kait Todd leaves the Medical section, feeling as though her life has collapsed about her. It's taken years to rise from the lowest rank of INCIS Inquisitors – Level Five – to a position of respect and authority. Now, due to a single failure, her future is gone.

Level Five, just a single step above Field Operative. 'It can't be,' she thinks, 'I have a house, a future, I can't _survive _as a Newbie!'

No sooner does this forlorn thought assail her than she hears Cynthia Sumner's cold voice issue from the disk affixed to her right earlobe. "L5 Todd, report immediately to the Chief Inquisitor."

She restrains herself from uttering a sound as her face scrunches. She'd be soul sick if the Empire hadn't long ago proven souls don't exist. Her day can't get worse.

"_Acknowledge_!"

"Todd acknowledging," she complies with Sumner's harsh command. Shaken, barely able to stand after her ordeal, she turns about and makes her way to the sanctum, wondering why she doesn't simply draw her sidearm and finish everything rather than face yet another punishment.

xx

The platform past MTAC has never felt so long. The only access is from the staircase up from Operations, an easily defensible position from both the guarded monitor room above and the throng of armed Inquisitors below.

The faces of the guards she passes reflect those of the men and women she'd passed below; utter contempt. She is the Inquisitor who failed, who let three prisoners die without obtaining important information. The one who had been felled by a single punch and had allowed a prisoner – whom she hadn't broken – to kill a highly regarded Interrogator. The one who was punished, tortured and demoted for her failure, now summoned to the sanctum of the Chief Inquisitor to learn her fate.

Kait approaches the sigiled door, trying her best only to walk without staggering. The colored metal of the sword and Earth before the Imperial Navy seal and black hunting eagle with wings menacingly raised is more threatening now than she'd ever imagined. She'd never seen it as a threat, it had always been a symbol of pride. Now it may be the last thing of her prideful life that she'll ever see.

She will not demean herself with visible weakness. She'll face her fate, whatever it will be, with all the dignity she can muster.

Halting before the door, well aware she's being monitored, hyperconscious of the twin machine guns converged upon her body from behind the panels on either side of the door, she reaches out to touch the intercom.

"Speak!" Cynthia Sumner's voice commands.

"L2–" she bites back the words, "L5 Kaitlyn Todd to see the Chief Inquisitor; by command."

Her heart seizes as the panels covering the machine guns drop away.

x

Kait stands frozen, ready for the two barrages of steel to intersect upon her pounding heart. One second – two seconds – three – and then the lock clicks, the panels rise into place and the door swings open.

Kait struggles to keep her face blank, hiding her deep breath in its careful slowness. She steps forward, trying to mask her shaking, not wanting to allow anyone to see how close she is to collapse.

"Get in there," Sumner commands, but Todd ignores her. All her focus is on walking, on breathing, on keeping the mask firmly in place and the apprehension from her eyes.

She stops at the door, expecting it to open and the black armored guard at her left, Templeton, draws his sidearm and presses it to her head, just below the edge of her cap.

"You let your prisoner kill Lee. If not for Gibbs' order I'd blow your head apart like an overripe melon."

She slowly turns just her head to the man until the barrel is pressed to the center of her forehead. "What a pity for you that you _can't_."

Their eyes lock for a long moment past the gun barrel, and each sees the other's imminent death. "Some day," he tells her.

"Some day."

Before her the door clicks and opens, and as Todd steps through, she knows her life has irrevocably changed.

The door locks and Templeton waits in mounting anticipation for her scream.

xxx

Eleven hundred hours on the following morning Fred Higgins, Antony DiNozzo, Patrick Larsen, Janet White, Karen Levy and Jennifer Shepherd wait in the parking lot surrounded by row upon row of identical black vehicles. It's less than an hour before the Mossad Director's plane is due to touch down in Joseph McCarthy airport and they're impatient to leave. Higgins, by his seniority the de facto Team Leader, again reports their readiness to depart, again the reply is 'Stand by'.

With nothing more to do, the six black leather clad Inquisitors, L1s all, review their plans for an unnecessary fifth time. "The conference begins this afternoon at 1700, we're to take our people, in separate vehicles, to the John Booth Hotel and stay with them until it's time to bring them in."

"That's the plan," Larsen confirms sourly, "just like it was every other time we reviewed it–" his expression changes from annoyance to disgust. "What the _hell_?" The others turn to follow his gaze to the approaching black uniformed woman.

"What is she _wearing_?" Janet Levy demands, outraged.

"She should be _shot _for this," Larsen snaps. The band across the hat of the woman approaching them is not black as it should be, not silver as it had been when most of them saw her last, but gold that gleams in the bright sunlight.

"What are you doing here, _Five_?" Antony DiNozzo demands as Kaitlyn Todd stops before them. "We're busy."

Kait is well used to the contempt of her fellows, but this time she smiles in great satisfaction. "Change of plans; I'm supervising this assignment."

"The _Hell_ you are!" Higgins erupts.

"How _dare _you wear One's gold?" Janet White demands.

"Get out of here, Five," DiNozzo commands, sweeping her aside with the back of his hand across her chest, contemptuously pressing her breast flat.

Todd grabs his pinky, pulls as she sidesteps behind him, kicks the back of her knees to slam him to the asphalt. Her tight grip on his bent back finger continues the pain as she presses her gun to the back of his head, just under his cover. He dares not fight despite the pain; a twist of her hand could snap his finger if she doesn't shoot him instead.

It's in this angle that her shoulder boards are prominent. Rather than a single silver strip, five golden bands gleam in the sunlight.

"Yesterday Chief Inquisitor Gibbs promoted me to Level One. He also assigned me as Team Leader for this mission. I trust I have your complete support."

Humiliated, fighting the pain, DiNozzo grits out the galling words "I'll follow your orders."

Todd waits a measured five seconds before letting go of his pinky, but it's another five before she draws back the gun and holsters it. "Everyone to your vehicles, we're moving out."

DiNozzo gets to his feet as the others separate for their respective cars, but the hatred in his eyes as he meets Todd's is terrible. He, however, says nothing.

x

In moments only one person remains with Todd. "Congratulations," Jennifer Shepherd says, no little surprised at this sudden reversal of fortune.

"Thanks. And thank you. You were the only one to stand by me when I was down as far as I could go."

"You're one of the very few here I can call a friend, one I can trust enough to turn my back on."

"That's high praise, thank you. I trust you too."

"So said, you screwed up."

"I know. I lost my head."

"You might. You don't humiliate a sadistic bully like DiNozzo without finishing it, and you do not _draw_ on him without blowing him away. He's not going to make the same mistake."

"Not yet. He knows if he kills me Gibbs kills him, but I already know someone's not coming back from this mission." She looks at the cars pulling out before them. "I'm just not sure who."

Shepherd would rather not consider this ominous prediction, but when expressed with such certainty as Todd uses, she can't avoid their portent. "Watch your back."

"I thought you had my back."

"I do."

"And I you."


	5. Ziva David

Chapter Five  
Ziva David

It's absolutely unforgivable, Higgins thinks, for the team to arrive at the airport barely fifteen minutes before their mark's plane is scheduled to set down, but he keeps his aggravation behind a careful mask. It's one thing to be removed from Leadership of this team, quite another to make the stupid mistake of reacting openly to it. Whatever Gibbs has in mind by assigning and then undermining him, he'll leave to Gibbs to reveal. Other men have paid the price for stupidity, he will not.

Therefore he says nothing, reacts not in the slightest tensing of a facial muscle, as an L2 demoted to L5 and brevetted to L1, all in the course of 20 hours, takes charge of his team.

"Nothing has changed," Todd informs them, "there's still the one-on-one assignment you already have."  
"Has someone been added to their delegation?" Janet White asks.

"No, I'll be bouncing back and forth among all teams."

No one is foolish enough to question the efficiency of this. For whatever reason Gibbs has made this change, it's too soon to do more than go with the flow of events and watch closely. All any of them has to be concerned with is making sure the mission doesn't fail because of his or her flaws. For INCIS to fail in this conference will be very bad for Gibbs, far worse for the one responsible.

x

Rather than waiting in the terminal, as if INCIS Operatives could be made to wait anywhere, the seven Inquisitors gather on the tarmac only slightly off line as the huge jet roars in, screeches to an earsplitting landing and taxis into position. They are so close the tall flight of rolling stairs must be pushed past them to the high door, and by the time that door is opened they are gathered in a semicircle that allows those at each end of the horseshoe to have a panoramic view of the airfield.

The first two to step out of the plane are blue uniformed soldiers who assume positions on each side of the top of the stairs, their rifles held ready rather than in an Honor Guard position. They cover the areas behind one another, and the Inquisitors know there are many other men ready to blow out any window necessary on either side to hit their targets.

Next, two men attired in much finer blue uniforms descend. Their shoulder boards denote them as Israeli Secret Service Captains; on their lapels are, respectively, the Imperial sigil and the emblem of the Mossad. Gleaming medals of gold suspended from a rainbow of ribbons complete the image.

When they touch down, Kait takes a step forward from the apex of the arch, establishing her primacy among the identically dressed men and woman. The older of the two Captains is half a step forward, his own position established. The two salute Kait in the Imperial manner rather than the Israeli, a particular distinction. She returns the salute and a moment later her fellows do.

x

"I am Captain Mikel Bashan," the older of the pair says, "this is Captain Namir Eschel of the Mossad. You are the Officers who would assume the safety of our Director?"

"You're responsible for her safety, Captain."

"Agreed."

He turns and looks up the steps to the still open door. A moment later two soldiers attired and armed as the first step out, followed by two civilians, a man and a woman, then two more, followed by a young woman who can barely be 17. Last is a black haired woman clothed in the finest blue uniform of all, the material of which seems to shine in the sunlight. Rows of medal bars gleam upon her chest. She carries herself ramrod straight as she descends the steps, those at the bottom making room for her. Surprisingly, the youngest of them stands the closest.

When Director David addresses the Inquisitors, it is in Hebrew, the girl at her shoulder giving her strict attention. Then the young woman turns to Kait.

"Director David acknowledges your welcome and says she and her staff are ready for transport to your conference."

"You may tell the Director we are ready to leave immediately." The girl does so. "We are ordered to transport each of you separately. If you would identify yourselves, you will be led to individual cars." The girl passes this message along, receiving a sharp reply from her chief.

"That will not be satisfactory. The others may travel under our guard as you suggest, I must remain with the Director."

"Obviously."

xx

The change requires reshuffling of assignments when it is revealed that the translator is Miriam Goldbloom. It obliges Levy and a nonplussed Shepherd to share a car, Shepherd driving with Goldbloom beside her, Levy and David in the rear. There is no conversation, not only because neither operative is interested in talking or has a position in the upcoming conference and therefore nothing to talk about, but because everything that is said would have to be run through the interpreter.

Jennifer Shepherd is particularly grateful for the silence as she contemplates this aspect of her assignment. Isolating Goldbloom from the others had had its complications before, but if Goldbloom cannot leave David's side the situation is now far more complex.

Gibbs doesn't like complications. He'd given Jennifer a single, very specific order.

Isolate Goldbloom, kill her, implicate the French.

How?

x

When the Inquisitors and their charges enter the hotel and proceed directly to the rooms assigned to the Director and her staff, they receive a more unpleasant surprise. Shepherd and Levy enter the master suite first, guns drawn, but the only target that presents itself is Chief Inquisitor Gibbs.

Both operatives pull their guns upward, not daring to be seen by the rifle bearing guards standing on either side of the door to be threatening their Chief. They snap to attention, their weapons held pressed in salute to their chests.

Behind them, Ziva David walks into the room, followed by her Interpreter and three of her guards.

"Your guards are not needed," Gibbs tells her, picking a file folder up from the table beside him, "neither are mine. We will talk privately, so everyone but David, get out."

Goldbloom turns to Ziva, translating his words and receiving a sharp reply, with which she turns to Gibbs.

"The Director wishes you to know that I am to remain."

Gibbs opens the folder and reads from the top page within. "David, Ziva, born Tel Aviv June 4, 1973. Father: Ari David, deceased. Mother: Trini Goldbloom. Birth status: Illegitimate." Ziva shows no visible sign at this declaration. "Educated in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Prague and Oxford; fluent in Hebrew, Greek, Italian, Spanish, French ... and English."

The Mossad Director displays no change in expression or tone as she addresses her aide: "You may wait in your room."

"Yes, ma'am." Goldbloom replies, turning to leave under Shepherd's escort, all others filing out of the room as well. Levy and the four guards take strategic positions in the hall, Shepherd herds Goldbloom into a room down and across the hall.

xx

When Jennifer Shepherd locks the door after having carefully searched the rooms assigned to the linguist, she tries to keep all inflection from her voice as she addresses the young woman. "A well played deception."

"Thank you."

Shepherd can see the advantage of this ruse. The more people who think David cannot understand foreign languages, the less cautious they might be in the absence of an interpreter. For Shepherd, the assignment has just become much easier. Gibbs will not allow anyone to come between himself and direct contact with David, so Goldbloom has now become superfluous.

And if the French should somehow have become aware of the ruses perpetrated upon them, they might not take kindly to the participants in the deceptions. They might even decide Goldbloom has outlived her usefulness.

"David's mother was a Goldbloom?"

"She's my aunt."

x

Shepherd is not going to question the legitimacy of that connection, deciding it's none of her business. More to the point, she's been assigned to kill a member of the Mossad Director's family – on American soil during negotiations while assigned as her protector.

"How did you wind up connected with your aunt in this?"

"Israel is a very family oriented country, and aunt Ziva maintains the Mossad in the same manner. Many of us trace our families within the force."

"You do realize, don't you, that you're no longer needed on this mission. Gibbs is not going to allow you to participate."

"I've known for a long time that I'm not needed. That is why I'm here in America today."

"Why?"

"Siboleth."

x

Shepherd's gun is aimed at Goldbloom's heart before the word dies. Goldbloom's automatic raising of her hands means nothing against a bullet. "How the _hell_ do you say that to me?"

"I wasn't sure if you–"

"One second left before I drill a _tunnel_ through you!"

"We have contacts here in America. One said an Inquisitor could make someone disappear, and she would know the word."

Shepherd stalks up to her and starts unfastening Goldbloom's clothing, holding the gun on her and subjecting her to the most thorough search she'd ever used, leaving nothing unexamined. Goldbloom doesn't move, submitting and remaining meekly silent until Shepherd is done. "Okay, put your clothes back."

"You'll help me?"

The backhand slap is so blurringly fast Goldbloom never sees it; she's down on the carpet holding her cheek. Shepherd comes down, her knee landing on the girl's stomach and she pushes the black gun under Goldbloom's chin. Her whisper is so quiet it barely reaches the girl, but it burns with fury.

"You could've blown a cover I've spent years building by mispronouncing that word out loud! I don't know if you're naïve or just stupid, but I should just complete my _assignment_ and kill you right now!" She has the satisfaction of watching the color drain from the girl's face, all but the red cheek where she'd hit her.

"Yes, I'm to kill you, and I'm suddenly thinking Gibbs is right: you're better off dead."

"If you believed that," Goldbloom whispers as quietly, wiping a smear of blood from her mouth to the back of her hand, "you'd have shot me already."

x

Shepherd's hand tightens around the gun butt. It is with great effort that she keeps her index finger from moving. "I swore an _oath_ that I'd help anyone who comes to me and pronounces shibboleth wrong." The Bible having been outlawed decades ago, its secrets have grown useful. Not many know the secret recounted in the Book of Judges about the Israel / Ephraimite war, how the latter had been identified as enemy spies because there was no 'sh' in their dialect. "But if this is a trap you're going to die before me!"

"It's not–" urgency had caused her to raise her voice, the gun shoved into her throat quiets her again. "Israel has its network just as America does, but I cannot disappear in Israel. I came here looking for someone who could help me."

"And just decided to give me the password on the spur of the moment?"

"I had a description."

"From who?"

"Will you kill him?"

"Probably."

"Then I won't tell you."

Shepherd gets up off the girl's stomach, stands and points the gun directly between her eyes. "Tell me the name of your contact."

"No."

"Five - four - three -"

"Two one shoot, I'm not telling you. If I'm wrong I'm already dead. I won't bring him down too."

Shepherd crouches down until she can press the barrel of the gun on the bridge of Goldbloom's nose. To her eyes it must look like two converging barrels of a cannon. Goldbloom's face pales further, Shepherd wasn't sure it could, but she keeps her silence. Five seconds, ten …

"If you'd told me, I'd have named you a traitor and blown your empty head apart." She draws the gun back and slips it into the holster, then offers her hand and boosts Goldbloom to her feet, but presses the gun between the teen's breasts.

"Understand this: I don't trust you and at the first hint that you're working with INCIS or your own Mossad, I'll kill you."


	6. Schemes and Schemes

Chapter Six  
Schemes and schemes

"So you think because your aunt's secret is out, you'd be killed."

"Just like turning off a light bulb. But not for any deception, it's for what I may know. They think aunt Ziva confides in me what she may hear when I'm not there to 'interpret'. The French don't care, it's not a matter of their pride. They can't hit her, not without risking war or retribution from the Empire; but me, I'm cannon fodder."

"David knows this?"

"We've known for years, she and I. This playact has been long in the making, since before she relieved my great uncle Eli of his position. She plays the prideful one, not willing to learn any other language. Anyone who wishes to speak to her will learn our language or work through me. But we think the secret may be out, and your Chief just proved it."

"And you don't want to stay? Take the chance your secret's not out until it is?"

"There's loyalty, then there's stupidity."

"Careful, I still haven't decided where you stand on that." She sees a first flare of anger from the girl.

"I don't want to leave my family and everyone and everything I know. But the choice is to wait for the day when someone puts a bullet in my head; or worse, blows up my car with my family inside it. I had to use what contacts I had to survive. I had to come to you."

"INCIS ordered me to kill you."

"I never said it was a perfect plan."

x

Jennifer Shepherd reflects upon the capriciousness of fate. She'd been away on assignment when two of her contacts had been captured, though once they were it was impossible to save Timothy McGee or James Palmer from their fates. By the time she'd returned, they and Michelle Lee were dead, Kaitlyn Todd was a prisoner and initially she'd feared her own cover had been destroyed. It took several days of tense bluffing to assure her that her position was secure. Then came this assignment.

Does Gibbs know? Does he suspect?

No. If he suspected her she'd be dead. Gibbs doesn't hesitate on such things. To him to suspect is to act. If he knew, she'd be dead, so he doesn't know.

But he'd ordered her to kill someone who now, in the eyes of the INCIS and possibly the Mossad, is a potential traitor. And she must fulfill her mission, for if she does not, _she_ will die.

The simplest move is to break her oath, be true to INCIS and put a bullet through the girl's head. It's also the right thing to do, perhaps the _only _smart thing to do. It is certainly the INCIS thing to do.

She can allay any suspicions some people might have and secure her position. Just draw the gun, aim and fire. Done.

But does that make her better than the force she's sworn to fight? Not defeat, for she doesn't believe it can be defeated, but it can be fought.

It's a question she has asked herself thousands of times over the years, and she's still no closer to an answer.

x

She is foresworn. She has always been. She'd sworn an oath to the INCIS, to the Empire, and to the Brotherhood. Since the day she'd joined the Brotherhood she was forsworn.

Now she is more so, and by her own hand, for she must now choose again.

Actually, she realizes now that the circumstances have actually made it easier for her. Her assignment is to kill Goldbloom. She and the other Inquisitors have been ordered to accompany their charges wherever they go, not to hold them anywhere. They are escorts, not jailors. What better way than to accompany Goldbloom out of this hotel, take her to some spot and kill her and blame the French, as had originally been planned?

Actually she'll take her to a safe location where they can meet someone to take her out of the area. Gibbs never said come back with a body, just to kill her. Yes, it could work.

Admittedly, a thousand things could go wrong, but when has she not faced that risk?

x

"All right, this is what we're going to do. I have a safe place several miles from here, one that's constantly watched. I'll take you there because I'm ordered to go with you where you will and you're not restricted while you're here, especially now that you're useless." She watches the word sting. "There I will kill you, bringing back evidence of your death, and there you will meet someone who will take you out of the city and hand you off. Give me, or anyone else, the slightest suspicion that you're working against us and you _will_ die."

"I understand."

"No, I don't think you do. Why did Gibbs assign me to kill you, then betray your secret to a roomful of Inquisitors, guards, et cetera? Doing so _put _your life at risk from the French and who knows who else? It doesn't make any sense, not when relations between our countries need to be stable. This conference is not that urgent, but it is useful."

"I've found politics sometimes doesn't make sense." An instant later Goldbloom is again on her back, Shepherd rubbing the pain from her knuckles.

"Politics _always_ makes sense to the ones making their plans and you are either naïve or stupid! You can't have worked Internationally with Mossad and not know that. You're lying. Tell me what's going on."

"I don't know." Shepherd draws her gun, her decision made. "_I don't know_!"

"What don't you know?"

"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!"

Shepherd takes careful aim at the girl's heart but holds, willing to hear this version. "Explain. _Fast_!"

"I used to know everything. I was privy to all plans, all schemes, I _had_ to be. I couldn't work the scheme if I wasn't. Then, a few weeks ago, things started happening that were catching me by surprise. New personnel, troop deployments, changes within the Mossad that I wasn't in the loop for. My inquiries came to nothing, replies didn't pan out."

"They were moving you out. They weren't afraid of the plan falling apart, you were being edged out. It's not the French or anyone else you have to be afraid of, it's your own family and friends."

"They can't dispose of me in Israel. Aunt Ziva won't allow even a hint that the Mossad killed one of their own. It goes against everything she would have the world know. Even a hint that my death was unwarranted would reduce her standing in the government."

"But if you're killed on foreign soil, by authorities that so conveniently provide proof it was the French that assassinated you…"

"Mossad's hands are clean."

"Why didn't you tell me everything the first time?"

"I've spent most of my life in covert operations. It's a habit you don't break out of."

x

Shepherd turns away, thinking hard. Obligations are one thing, but there's too much uncertainty here. Gibbs has to know that this is going to happen, he's too good not to know. Is there even a real conference, or is everything orchestrated for the simple purpose of ridding an ally of an inconvenience? What to do? Take her to the safe transfer point, fulfill one obligation; or take her elsewhere and put a bullet through her head? Follow the obligations of the Brotherhood - there's much her superiors could learn from this girl - or do the smart thing and follow her orders as an INCIS Inquisitor?

She'd often wondered when she'd reached the point in her life where mercy and compassion took second place to duty. She knows when mercy and compassion have reestablished their places in her life, but have they done well by her to do so?

For years she's walked along a very sharp fence, fulfilling INCIS duties at some times, saving others when it was asked of her. In traversing those blades for so long, has she finally reached the point where she can't decide on which side to step down? Duty and common sense dictate her response; mercy and compassion are powerful motivators and should be damned.

x

But this girl, still in her teens, has also lived her life by duty and is being sold out by people who won't risk the political status quo by killing her themselves. Gibbs has given them the means for removing an inconvenience and winning a point in their eternal struggle with the French.

If it can be proven - and she will provide that proof - that the French have acted in the very heart of the Empire, in the shadow of the Imperial Palace, Israel will not only be free to strike back against this insult but will manage to incur Imperial support. The Emperor might well intercede. No, strike that, the Emperor will lose face by this incident; he will be angry and he _will_ act.

And what of the Level One Inquisitor who allowed her charge to die, offended the Israelis, humiliated the INCIS and embarrassed the Emperor?

Jennifer Shepherd closes her eyes, says a final, forbidden prayer and says goodbye to all she has ever known.

"Come with me. We're both leaving – and neither of us is coming back."


	7. Safe

Chapter Seven  
Safe

Leaving the hotel is simplicity itself. As a protector of a visiting diplomat who wants to see the seat of the Empire, all Shepherd has to do is escort her to her car. Shepherd knows she won't be hindered, it's no part of her adversary's plan to stop her from reaching the safe transfer point, a.k.a. her place of execution, and completing her mission.

Shepherd's own danger begins upon the mission's completion. Ziva David will furiously demand restitution from the INCIS and the Empire for the insult of her beloved niece being killed while under INCIS protection, and the blame will fall upon Shepherd's neck.

Does Gibbs suspect her of being in league with the Brotherhood? No, if he did he'd give her to her fellow Inquisitors for them to break, then he'll put a bullet through her head.

Maybe not. Gibbs won't just put a bullet through her head; maybe he'll give in to the plea of his woman. No, there are no 'maybes' there, she decides. Abigail Sciuto has never liked her; she'll ask Gibbs to confine her to the Punishment Booth.

The record for survival is eight days. The bitch Sciuto will enjoy testing her to see how long she survives. Will she set a record?

She sincerely hopes not.

x

Not a word is spoken as Shepherd navigates the streets of Washington, keeping the dash screen active the whole time. The rearward facing camera provides a better image of pursuit than any mirror could. With the camera she can focus on the entire panorama behind her or zoom in on any car well enough to see the driver's nose hairs.

She's not worried about being tracked, for she has overcome the GPS system using one of the Brotherhood's devices, it thinks she is headed in a different direction and will provide instructions to the Imperial Navy Academy. What the Empire sometimes forgets is that what technology can create, technology can circumvent and she's well supplied with the tools to do so.

The jammer is in the grip of the dagger strapped to her left thigh; a gentle upward motion as though clearing it from the sheath, followed by an equally covert pressure of her thumb activates the device. As far as any orbiting tracking satellites are concerned, this car no longer exists.

She's glad that the girl is smart enough to keep her mouth shut and let her think, not that she'd answer any questions even if the situation were safe. She certainly has no intention of discussing their destination; it will be revealed when they arrive.

Eventually they turn onto a highway into Virginia. Eventually they leave the city, traffic thins, they turn onto an exit and drive for another half hour until they pull into the driveway of a diner.

Rather, what used to be a diner. It has been closed for nearly a year, the 'For Sale' sign taped to the inside of the window bleached by the sun.

No one has cleaned the area around the building in months. Debris and garbage testify to hope long since past. Dirty windows and decaying walls tell the story: this place will never be sold, nor will it serve another weary, hungry customer again. If anyone does own this property, it is evident they have given up on it.

That is exactly the impression the Brotherhood wants, why they will never try to sell it.

x

Shepherd pulls the black car around the back, moving slowly so she won't disturb the debris. When the car is hidden from the road, she leads Goldbloom to the back door. It's not locked, vandals and scavengers are welcome to render their mischief, so long as they leave the structure standing. When she pulls the door open, Shepherd knows the monitoring station three miles away is receiving the signal. She pushes Goldbloom through, the door must close within ten seconds.

It's clear that the vandals and scavengers have done a thorough job in the year since she's been here. Much of the diner is gone. Seatless stools line a dirty counter, blades have cut the cushions of booths, most of the lighting fixtures are gone. She cares about none of that, heading straight to the kitchen. Having closed the front door within the time limit, she now has thirty seconds to turn the stove dial or they will be declared scavengers and the monitor station will ignore them.

Pushing open the door behind the counter, Shepherd has a moment of apprehension. The devastation within the kitchen is far more pronounced than in the dining area. The stove is open, the door battered off its hinges. Fortunately the dial is still attached. Whether it had been damaged and replaced or had been ignored is unimportant; it turns and that's all that matters.

x

"Someone will come," she declares, not liking the hollowness of her voice in the destroyed room.

"Are you sure?" Goldbloom asks, her own voice reverberating in the quiet.

"You must _like_ getting slapped around. Someone will come."

"When?"

She doesn't like the girl's apprehension. "When they're sure it's safe."

She looks about at the devastation. "And what do we do until then?"

"Make yourself a sandwich."

x

Shepherd catches the distorted image of each of them in the tall metal door of the refrigerator. Her black leather uniform and cover are still immaculate even in the unpolished metal. The five gold bands in the epaulets on her shoulders, the identifying device on the front of her cover, the badge at her breast, eagle and shield surmounted by the Earth and Sword, they are the only things that break the blackness. Her red hair which peeks out from under her cover, itself lightened by the dirty metal, is the only spot of color. She's worn the uniforms of an INCIS Operative, of an Enforcer, of an Interrogator, of an Inquisitor, for all of her adult life.

She wonders what she'll be wearing tomorrow.

x

She doesn't like that she has to have anything in common with the girl before her, but she'll fulfill her duty. She leads Goldbloom out of the kitchen, trying not to blame the girl for how her life has suddenly disintegrated.

"What will happen when your friends come?"

Shepherd restrains a curse. "What do you _think_? They'll take us to another safe place, then we move on to another, and gradually Miriam Goldbloom – and Jennifer Shepherd – will cease to exist. We'll have new lives, new identities, somewhere."

"I'll miss this one."

Shepherd whirls, ready to lash out at the girl who instigated this debacle when there's an explosion and a small hole appears in the girl's forehead as the back of her head explodes.

Reflexes honed by years of training have Jennifer's gun in her hand before she completes the turn. Her gun is trained on the black uniformed woman at the end of the diner before the body behind her hits the floor.

"Hello, Jenn," the woman says regretfully, but the extended gun doesn't waver.

Jennifer sights down the barrel of her own gun, aiming steadily between brown eyes. "Hello, Kait."

x

"When I tracked you I was really sorry. I spent all day wishing it were DiNozzo."

"Me too."

"You've been a good friend. Please. Put down the gun."

"You first."

A very slow shake, but those eyes never leave hers. "Humor never was your strong suit."

"Well, looking down that barrel, I don't find much funny. How'd you beat the GPS jammer?"

"I didn't. All the cars have simple radio beacons. Ancient tech. I just followed the one that moved."

"So. Gibbs knows."

"What. Not who. It was my job to find who. Like I said, I was wishing it was DiNozzo."

"It could still be."

Todd shakes her head, rejecting the so-convenient offer. "Jenn, please, it doesn't have to end like this. Put down the gun."

"This can only end one way. We both know it."

"You can't keep that gun on me forever, and once you waver it's over."

"We've both had the same training, the same motivation to keep our aim for the rest of our lives ... and I didn't spend five days in the Punishment Chamber."

"Jenn, please, I don't want to kill you any more than you want to kill me."

"You're right, I don't want to kill you. But I can't let you take me. I'm not keen on months of torture."

"Then put it down. I'll make it quick. I swear you won't feel anything." The gun is heavy, holding it extended is making her already overtaxed muscles sore.

"How about we both put them down? Together." She actually sees Kait's gun waver. "I can make you a better offer than Gibbs can."

"What?"

"Come _with_ me." Her arms are aching but she knows if she can't convince Kait then she holds the gun for the rest of her life. "Neither of us has to die. What _loyalty_ do you owe INCIS? What loyalty have they shown you? They busted you, took away your future, tortured you –."

"Gibbs gave me back my rank, and then some. I'm a Level One."

"And all you have to do is kill your best friend."

"_Damn_ you! I don't _want_ to kill you!"

"Come with me. We can both disappear. We don't have to go back."

"Damn you, don't you _understand_? I _want _to go back! INCIS is my life. I have a promotion, security, _I can be Deputy Chief_ if I bring down this railroad!"

"Did he promise that?"

"Deputy Chief. I bring in the answers to the underground railroad, Gibbs makes the announcement."

"Then I can't convince you."

"No."

Shepherd sights more carefully between her best friend's eyes, seeing in them that Todd's aim is equally precise. "I'm sorry, Kait."

"Me too, Jenn."

Both guns fire, the near-simultaneous explosions echo through the diner.


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue

Chief Inquisitor Lee Gibbs looks at the bloody black cover in the woman's hand. The underside of the polished bill is covered with blood, the back rim soaked with blood and worse.

"She took Miriam Goldbloom to the diner. I followed and executed them. You were right, she was working for them, which is why we never got anything on the railroad. After she was dead, someone came to collect them. She was going to defect, betray INCIS. Who knows what secrets she carried to the grave?"

"Did you take this other?"

She reaches into her pocket, pulls out an Imperial ID chit. "He tried to shoot his way out. After having to kill my best friend I wasn't in the mood." She hands over the chit.

Gibbs inserts it into a slot on his desk. The plasma screen on the wall to his left turns on, showing the face of a silver haired man. "Old enough to know better," he observes.

The name beside the picture is Tobias Fornell.

"You did well." Gibbs tells her.

"Thank you, sir."

"With this information we come one step closer to wiping out the railroad. Excellent work."

"Thank you, sir."

"I've been thinking of something for a while. I did offer it, and a deal is a deal. I need a Deputy Chief. As of now, you're it."

"Sir, thank you sir!"

He rises. "Situation briefing at 0800 tomorrow."

She salutes sharply, her fist striking the air before him. "Long live the Empire."

He returns the salute as sharply. "Long live the Empire."

x

Taking the bloody hat with her she exits the offices, ignoring Sumner and the two armored guards. In the outer hall, Jennifer Shepherd stops, looking at the bloody cover in her hands and reflecting upon her friend and the capriciousness of fate.

Tobias is safe, beneficiary of the same railroad he conducts. That safe spot and the railroad it commences are abandoned and realigned.

Jennifer knows she's not safe; no one in the Empire is ever wholly safe. But her position is now vastly changed, temporarily though it is. She is now Second to the Chief of INCIS.

Gibbs is good, vastly good, intelligent and resourceful, but he is not superhuman. And despite how lucky she's been in manipulating the circumstances, neither of them is infallible.

For now she and Gibbs stand at the pinnacle. She knows he doesn' trust her, and she will never trust him. In INCIS no one ever trusts anyone.

As Deputy Chief she has the power and position to help the Brotherhood far more effectively. She wishes McGee and Palmer - and their last charge - could have lived until she was in this position where she could've helped them. Maybe in the future she can do something effective enough to make their deaths meaningful.

For the moment she's safe. Kait Todd bears her guilt and Gibbs doesn't suspect her.

She vows to be very careful. If she lives she knows the day will come when Gibbs will become too confident. Gibbs will make a mistake.

And that will be the end of Gibbs.

Or of her.


End file.
